


Really Bad Spideypool One Shots

by arachnidman



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, I Tried, M/M, Nightmares, Suicide, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 17:34:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8111218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arachnidman/pseuds/arachnidman
Summary: Just a collection of horribly written and edited one shots. Enjoy.(Suggestions/prompts always welcome, but I can't say that I'll do them any justice)Next Update: whenever I get my shit together*I hate this, soz for putting you through its existence*





	1. Missing You

**Author's Note:**

> These are gonna be really bad, apologies.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade is dead, Peter is depressed and it all ends badly.
> 
> Word Count: 1,402

“I love you, Wade, you big idiot,” Peter spoke, his tone almost too quiet even to his own ears. The only response he got in return was the light breeze blowing against his cheek and the gentle sway of the bare trees surrounding him. Paired with his own soft sniffles and the occasional whimper or hiccup.

 

Tears slid down his pink stained cheeks and left him with a stiff, sticky face and unable to catch his breath as his sobs got louder. He never thought he would have to be in this dreaded position. It was always assumed that it’d be the other way around, not to say that would be any better. The thought of Wade crying over Peter’s grave seemed even worse than the current situation somehow.

 

The grave sat in front of him displayed his love’s name in a font almost too pretty to be appropriate. Flowers decorated the edges of the plot along with a little Canadian flag (courtesy of Steve after being told an American Flag would make no sense). It almost angered Peter how everything was so bright and cheerful while his boyfriend was six feet under the ground, it seemed almost disrespectful how nothing but Peter was upset.

 

The funeral had been weeks ago, yet the second date engraved into the stone still haunted Peter’s thoughts. It killed him to see a date that wasn’t just another number anymore. It was the day of his boyfriend’s death now, the day after Peter’s 22nd birthday. He was almost expecting it to be a whole prank. He wished it was. He wanted Wade to jump out from behind a tree and yell “fooled ya!” and tackle his smaller love to the ground. He wanted to cry and hit Wade’s chest and yell at him and tell him it wasn't funny.

 

But something about the situation felt permanent. Like, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't see it being anything other than real.

 

Peter remembers the entire thing. He remembers The Green Goblin fighting him and he remembers Wade swooping in to help save the day. He remembers Norman pinning him down long enough to pull out a syringe of green liquid. He remembers Wade getting in the way and wrestling around with the monster. He remembers Wade getting injected with the serum and the pained screams that followed after.

 

He remembers getting Wade to Stark Tower and he remembers waiting for Wade to heal like he always does. But this time, he remembers Wade getting worse instead of better. His cancer was no longer tamed, it was as bad as ever. His skin becoming almost too sensitive to touch. He remembers Wade telling him that even moving his eyes hurt him.

 

Every detail of the last two months was etched into his memory, depriving him of sleep and making his appetite less than normal. His voice was always hoarse after waking up, his screams from the nightmares becoming too much for his throat to handle.

 

It become so bad that he had to sell his apartment and move into Stark Tower to be looked after. His room had been made sound proof, so he didn't wake anybody else up when the night terrors become too much.

 

His Spider-Man suit was put to rest, now in a glass display case in Tony’s lab to be kept safe. Though, his web shooters stayed locked on his wrists and his room was always covered in the artificial webs. It comforted him.

 

Peter wasn't sure how long he stayed in that one spot with his leg crossed and his head hanging low. He doesn't know how many tears he cried that day or how many more tears he's going to cry. He's not even sure the last time he ate a proper meal or how long it's been since he stood under the shower head with the intention of doing something other than mask the sound of his cries.

 

It's safe to say that Peter felt dead. He felt like every part of his brain and heart and soul died with his lover and that he was just a vessel waiting for his own death. Which, at this rate, couldn't be far from now.

 

Peter’s nightmares only grew worse. Every moment he spent asleep was a moment full of memories. Memories of the time before they knew each other without masks, when Wade would show up with a soggy bag full of tacos and they’d sit on a rooftop to eat them. Peter sat on the edge and Wade right next to him, swinging his legs back and forth and making enough conversation for the both of them. Wade refused to eat with him the first couple of times, not willing to show his skin and disgust the poor boy next to him so bad he wouldn’t be able to keep his food down (Whitey’s words, not his, though he agreed).

 

Memories of the times they would team up to stop a cock fight at the edges of town, drug deals in warehouses when Wade would talk too loud and get them caught, or when they’d simply team up to save a kitten from an air conditioning unit.

 

His nightmares didn’t consist of only good memories, though, some nights he would get flashbacks from fights they had that lasted from hours to days. Most of those fights about Wade’s tendency to “unalive” people for ‘good reasons’, but sometimes they would be about Peter eating the last taco when Wade wanted it.

 

He dreamt of the future, too. The one they talked about when they were feeling cheesy some nights. One where they got married, had a few kids and settled down in the suburbs (this was the most unrealistic one). Sometimes, they simply talked about getting married and living their lives as New York’s strangest masked duo.

 

After Wade’s death, Peter realized none of this would happen again. He wouldn’t get greasy bags of tacos for dinner, bicker about the stupidest things or tell Wade how beautiful he really is again. He wouldn’t hear Wade’s voice again, he wouldn’t see him in the morning when his smile is dopey and his eyes are barely open. He wasn’t going to ever hear Wade brag about his healing factor compared to Wolverine’s, nor was he ever going to listen to him make fun of the Avengers again (the most nicknames that occurred were tinman and katniss, Wade always swelled with pride when Peter would laugh at those).

 

Wade’s touch was forever lost to him. He didn’t appreciate it enough when he had it, just because he never thought Wade would die so soon. Or even at all. Peter hated himself for it. He hated Oscorp for taking away one of the only things that meant so much to him. The serum was meant for him. It was meant to disable and kill him, not his wonderful boyfriend. This was his fault, and he knew it.

 

It didn't get better in a week, or a month. It only got worse as the nights got longer and the days got shorter. Everyday dragged on, it was repetitive and Peter hated it. He hated all of it. He wanted time to rewind and he wanted to fight off The Green Goblin and destroy the serum that took away his everything. He wanted to get revenge and take away everything Norman loved, he wanted to destroy Norman inside and out with his bare hands. He wanted to feel him lose all life underneath him and witness his last breath. But most of all, Peter just wanted Wade back.

 

It had been four months. A long four months at that. Peter only grew worse and worse everyday. Nobody could get through to him, he just simply gave up. Eventually, with a body so thin and sickly pale, hair that went down to his chin, and eyes so sunken in they looked hollow, Peter passed away in a web hammock with a small, weak smile on his lips.

 

Three days later, on November 13th, a new plot was dug a few feet away from Wade Wilson’s own by request of Tony (who paid for it). A headstone similar to everyone else’s was planted adjacent to his with the swirly font to match and new flowers to accompany it.

 

**_Peter Benjamin Parker_ **

**_August 18th, 1994 - November 10th, 2016_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one really isn't my favorite but I hope you enjoyed it anyway. It was loosely based off of Missing You By All Time Low so !


	2. Doe Eyes And Death [Part One]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is dead and Wade can't seem get a grip.
> 
> Word Count: 845

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't finished this so I split it up into two parts, apologies. Second part out soon.

 

You’d think a cell in the Stark Tower would be fancy, or you know, at least have a window or two. Well, you would be wrong, very wrong. The floors are concrete, cool to the touch and made to make you feel trapped and powerless. The bed wasn’t even technically a bed, it was a few sheets on the ground that you either, one: slept under or two: slept on. And both ways were mildly uncomfortable.  
  
Wade hadn’t been here long, maybe a week or two at most, but he could already tell you that he was sick of it. He missed his ratty old couch and bullet hole damaged windows and the smell of rotting Mexican food that never seemed to go away no matter how much Febreze was used. Tony barely fed him anything good, either, so it made his “visit” that much worse. He hadn’t expected a cell with his name on it, hell he wasn’t even expecting the tin man to help him. An eye roll and firm “no” with a bit of violence seemed more accurate. Until he explained to him why he wanted help.  
  
Wade came to Tony with a less than playful mood and a wobble in his step, his usual skip gone. Instead of a ray of sunshine surrounding him, it was like several storm clouds had found their homes above his head and were constantly shitting on his mood. Or maybe that was just Whitey and Yellow. Either way, Wade was begging for help. Practically down on his knees, his eyes wet and hollow.  
  
**_Peter Parker._ **  
That was Wade’s next target. He wasn’t sure what “Peter” had done exactly, all he was told was that he was “causing trouble in Queens and Manhattan” and ‘needed’ to die, but what he did know was that he was being paid several million dollars for his capture, torture, and murder all on camera. And who was Wade to turn down the offer?  
  
It started out with stalking. Finding where he lived, went to school, all the way down to which bus, he took and how long it took him to brush his teeth in the morning (7 minutes and 2 seconds). The only thing he failed to figure out was that Peter was, in fact, the Amazing Spider-Man.  
  
Wade followed him for weeks, dragging on the process for longer than necessary, but making this perfect was more important (or maybe Wade was just failing, but he wouldn't admit that). His plan was only 3 steps: kidnapping, torture, and murder. The kidnapping was supposedly the hardest part, and fuck hard doesn’t even begin to describe it. The boy had amazing reflexes along with incredible strength despite his scrawny frame. It was, well, shocking to say the least. The boy had practically thrown Wade into a wall the first time he tried to kidnap him, almost breaking his teeth in the process. Thankfully, Wade had gotten away before any more damage was done.  
  
The door opened, a loud creak emitting in the small, claustrophobic room, and in the doorway stood a sorrow looking Steve. He stepped inside, his boots barely making a noise, and let the door slam shut behind him. Wade curled in further on himself upon the captain’s arrival, his exposed head burrowed in between knees and his mask lying on the floor in pieces next to him.  
  
“Hey,” Steve whispered, fearful of talking any louder as if being too vociferous would scare the already shaking man. Wade flinched away anyway, one of his hands blindly reaching for his destroyed mask to hide his face when he looked up, but released a quiet sigh when he felt the mesh and leather in pieces, remembering that he had torn it in a fit of rage.  
  
A quiet grumble was the only reply he got, followed by an even louder one, this time in protest, when Steve took a seat next to him.  
  
“Why” was the only word that came from Steve’s mouth in the whole fifteen minutes it took the mercenary to speak up, unsure of what else he should say that would make any of this make sense. Wade’s shoulders shook as his body racked with sobs, his muffled voice getting interrupted every few seconds by a hiccup.  
  
“Why what? Why did I come to ask Tony to _kill me_ ? Or why did I kill _him_ ? Or, here’s an even better question, why I’m _alive_ ?” He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, “I have an amazing answer to all of those questions. I regret killing the boy and I want to die. I should’ve died a long time ago. Nobody wants me around, anyway.”  
  
The silence afterwards was deafening, the Cap unsure how to respond. He knew he wouldn’t be able to change the antihero’s mind and he wasn’t sure he wanted to, either. Deciding it was best he kept quiet, he patted Deadpool’s shoulder and made his way out of the room and only returned one other time that night to offer food. Wade declined with silence.


End file.
